She was beautiful, she really was
From the kinkiness in her hair
To the constellations in her eyes
…The smile she wore
…Beautiful long legs
She knew this from an early age
That she was just that, beautiful
But we walk around like the world is our reflection
Look into the face of a stranger
And decide we aren’t good looking after all
“I’ll look better with that hair,” she’d say
I read a magazine earlier
Girls like her do not cut it out as pretty
Women like her have too many acne scars to be recognised
So she did what was expected of her
Wore hair that wasn’t hers
Make up that burnt her face
What else could she do
When her validation of beauty came from those whose names she didn’t know
What’s this beauty they speak of?
She wanted her name to be mentioned when they speak of it
But the girl looking back at her wasn’t her
…Who’s body was her soul wearing now?
…Who’s defining her beauty?